


(The Dollhouse Wishes You A) Happy New Year

by lachatblanche



Series: Dollhouse AU [19]
Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Consent Issues, M/M, One-Sided Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-31
Updated: 2012-12-31
Packaged: 2017-11-23 03:33:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,937
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/617607
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lachatblanche/pseuds/lachatblanche
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A Dollhouse New Year Special</p>
            </blockquote>





	(The Dollhouse Wishes You A) Happy New Year

**Author's Note:**

> This piece takes place outside of the current timeline (most probably pre-'Splinter'). It does not have any real impact on the story as such, but it is intended as an extra to thank you all for reading the series.
> 
> I hope you all enjoy it, and I wish you an absolutely incredible New Year. Have a fantastic 2013 xx

It was two hours to midnight and Doctor Hank McCoy, Dollhouse Programmer and resident genius, was just finishing off the last touches to his top-secret project. He briefly eyed the lines of code that he had typed onto the screen before glancing about him, making sure that all was quiet and that he wouldn’t be disturbed. 

It was highly unlikely that he would, of course – those that were lucky enough had the night off, and those that were unlucky had already been sent out on Assignment with their Actives. The chances of Hank being interrupted, therefore, were slim to none. The only real danger of discovery came from Emma Frost, but as she had never ventured out of her office on New Year’s Eve any time before, it was unlikely that she would start doing so now. As for her pet guard-dog, Victor Creed … well, where Emma went, he was sure to follow. As long as she stayed tucked up in her office then it was unlikely that Creed would stray too far from her.

Besides, it wasn’t as if Hank was doing anything wrong. Well … not _completely_ wrong, at any rate. It was honestly hard to tell, considering what he did on a day-to-day basis. He had all but given up on deciding the moral and ethical repercussions of his actions in the Dollhouse; the lines were too vague and blurry for even him to decipher at this point, and he would really much rather think about Science than about Ethics. Things were a lot easier that way.

‘Almost done,’ he murmured reassuringly, tapping a last few keys and running a keen eye over the string of code he had created before nodding with satisfaction. Then, taking a deep breath, he looked up from the screen on his lap and looked over to the other side of his office, towards the Chair. He paused for a moment, biting his lip, before shaking his head and puttering over towards it.

‘Just a moment,’ he muttered distractedly, turning a number of switches and dials this way and that. ‘Just a second longer …’ He turned one final switch and, smiling triumphantly, turned around and looked at the figure in the Chair next to him.

‘Goodbye, Havok,’ he said, and stabbed his finger downwards onto the big red button.

Thirty seconds later, Havok opened his eyes and blinked, a scowl flitting onto his face as if it belonged there.

‘The fuck are you looking at?’ he demanded, glaring at Hank.

Hank merely rolled his eyes and held out a hand, unfazed.

‘Happy New Year, too,’ he said dryly, his mouth curling up into a genuine smile as Alexander grasped hold of his hand and pulled himself out of the Chair.

‘Yeah, yeah, what do you expect, a cuddle?’ Alexander groused but there was warmth in his eyes. ‘We’re way too old to be snuggling, Bozo, however cute your mom says it is.’

Hank’s expression faltered for only a moment before his bright expression returned.

‘Then we might have a problem,’ he said slowly, coyly glancing down at his feet to hide the mischievous look in his eye. ‘I mean, I don’t know: does that mean that we’re too old for video games and chocolate-covered marshmallows as well?’

Alexander’s eyes went wide at that.

‘Hell no!’ he exclaimed, almost shoving Hank away in his enthusiasm. ‘Let me at ‘em! We can pretend to be ten years old all you want _after_ the marshmallows.’

Hank snorted.

‘Who’s pretending?’ he murmured, before leading the way out of the office, his smile wide and brilliant and beaming.

 

*****

 

Erik sat in his chair, a glass of scotch in his hand and his eyes on the picture on the wall. The clock was slowly ticking down and in less than ten minutes the current year would have ended and the new year begun.

Erik didn’t very much care for New Year’s Eve. It was tiresome and overly-sentimental and there were far too many people about for his liking. He had decided against attending the annual New Year’s party held by the police department; in fact, apart from that one time during his first year on the force, he had systematically refused every invitation that followed, citing various half-hearted excuses that no one even pretended to believe anymore. Erik wasn’t too bothered. He would much rather get rip-roaringly drunk in his own apartment than in whatever crummy place the department had hired for the night. Even better, he wouldn’t have to put up with that cheap swill that they insisted on serving at every single luncheon and party and dinner that they organised. If there was one thing that Erik couldn’t stand, it was substandard alcohol.

He cast an almost affectionate look at the bottle of scotch on his table. No, if he was going to get good and drunk for the New Year, then he was going to get good and drunk on the _good stuff_.

It was something of a tradition, by now, spending New Year’s Eve in the comforting silence of his apartment with an expensive bottle of scotch at his side. He had almost thought that this year would be different – he now had Raven here, after all – but she had stated loudly and decisively that she would be attending a party in one of the neighbouring buildings that night and that she didn’t intend to return until some sort of ridiculously early hour on the next day. She had tried to convince Erik to do the same, of course, but to no avail. And so it was that Erik was once again indulging in his solitary tradition, the glass at his side being steadily decimated as the hour crept closer to midnight.

It wasn’t completely the same, of course. Erik wasn’t alone, for one. Well. Not _so_ much alone, at any rate. Pathetic as it was, he couldn’t help but feel a fraction more cheered by the smile that shone out at him from the picture on the wall, Charles Xavier’s eyes warm and comforting, telling him that for this New Year at least, he was not alone. 

Erik had even, in a fit of nauseating sentimentality, gone so far as to leave out a second glass in honour of Xavier’s photographic company. He didn’t know what had prompted him to do so, but he’d decided that he’d liked it. It made him feel … as if he wasn’t quite so alone.

His eyes were drawn to the dry, empty glass, and he sighed and rubbed tiredly at his eyes.

He didn’t know who he was fooling but it was certainly not himself.

Eight minutes to go and Erik found that he didn’t have the slightest clue why he even bothered staying up any more. The days when the night had cast some sort of magic over him whilst he sat on his mother’s knee had long passed; now, instead of heralding some sort of bright and hopeful future, the New Year now only meant one thing: he was getting old.

Five minutes to midnight, and he was just topping up his glass of scotch when there was a noise outside his apartment door, startling Erik out of his reverie. He was slow to react and before he could do much more than gape at the entrance to his flat, the door was opening and Raven was tumbling in, her hair windswept and her coat pulled tightly around her frame.

‘It’s fucking _freezing_!’ she moaned, shoving the door shut behind her, pulling her coat off in one slick move and then dumping herself into the armchair next to Erik’s. ‘Here, give us a glass of that, will you?’

Erik stared at her. He opened his mouth to say something, only to find himself mechanically moving over to pour out another glass of scotch, his eyes never leaving the figure sat next to him.

‘Ah,’ Raven said, sighing in satisfaction as he silently handed her what had been Xavier’s honorary glass, ‘Just what I needed,’ and she took a deep swig that nearly emptied the glass in one go.

‘Raven,’ Erik said at last, still staring on blankly as Raven smacked her lips together, ‘Raven , what are you _doing_ here?’

Raven paused and glanced up at him, her head cocked to one side.

‘What does it look like I’m doing?’ she asked dryly. ‘I’m spending New Year’s Eve with friends.’

‘But …’ Erik started helplessly. ‘I thought-’

‘Besides,’ Raven interrupted him as if he had never spoken. ‘That party in apartment thirteen?’ she wrinkled her nose. ‘It sucked. _Big_ time.’ She frowned and started fussing with the television remote, deliberately not looking towards Erik.

Erik watched her for a moment, not knowing what to think. His jaw worked silently, as if preparing to let loose a flurry of scathing words about his desire for solitude and his abhorrence of any form of pity, but something stopped him. Slowly, he forced his eyes away from Raven’s strangely-tensed form, and allowed himself to relax back into his seat. 

‘Right,’ he said neutrally. ‘Of course.’ He then reached over to the table by his side and lifted the half-full bottle. ‘More?’ he asked, his tone even.

Raven’s face split into a slow smile at that, and she quickly melted back against the seat, infusing the room with a sudden sense of contentment that had been missing before.

‘Make mine a double,’ she said cheerfully, sprawling back in her chair. Her eyes twinkled as she watched Erik dutifully pour her out a glass. ‘See,’ she said, taking the glass from him with a smile, ‘Already this is _way_ better than apartment thirteen.’

Erik didn’t say anything, but merely raised his own glass to her in salutation, a gesture that Raven returned with a soft look in her eye.

Then they both turned to sit back in their chairs and waited to welcome the New Year together.

 

*****

 

Emma sipped her champagne, humming pleasantly under her breath.

She did so love the New Year. 

Not that she actually did anything for it; no, she was far too busy – far too _important_ – to waste her time doing things like _celebrating_ or going to parties that she would in all probability dislike very much. No, Emma’s affection for the New Year was more impersonal than that; more vicarious. Altruistic, some might call it. Others would say voyeuristic, rather, but Emma couldn’t be bothered with pedantry. The fact of the matter was that she enjoyed New Year’s Eve because everyone _else_ enjoyed it. People of all ages, creeds and nationalities relaxed, turning their hopes and thoughts and aspirations towards the future with a childish innocence that was almost – dare she say it – _beautiful_ to behold. It was breathtaking, really, to think of that potent sense of hope turned towards an unknown future.

And, of course, there was also the fact that New Year’s Eve was one of the Dollhouse’s most profitable days of the entire fiscal year. The demand for their services was never greater; people wanted to celebrate, they wanted to _do_ things, things that could make them feel that they ended the year on a high. Whether that meant climbing Everest or merely having one night of mind-blowing sex, it all came down to one thing: no one wanted to be alone on New Year’s Eve.

Well, Emma amended with a slight smile, _almost_ no one. Personally, she couldn’t think of a better way to start the New Year than in the way that she planned to; alone, away from the banality of human stupidity and desperation, and with a glass of truly excellent champagne in her hand.

Not everyone was as immune to the need for companionship as she was, however, and this year had been particularly busy. A number of her staff had requested the night off months in advance, and she’d had to draft in temps to cover the number of Assignments that had been requested for the night. Even Mr. Sydney, who normally had New Year’s Eve off, had been asked to cover an alternate Active just so that they could get through the night. His Active, Havok, would be otherwise engaged, as was usual.

Emma smiled slightly as her thoughts drifted up to her Programmer. She knew very well, of course, just what the boy got up to on the one night a year that he though that she wouldn’t be looking, but Emma never did anything about it. It was only one night, after all, and despite being truly extraordinary Doctor McCoy was still only human: even he felt the need for human companionship at times. It wasn’t as if he ever left the Dollhouse, anyway. Everything would still be under Emma’s control, even if Hank never knew about it. All she had to do was turn a blind eye and ensure that Havok was never otherwise engaged on New Year’s Eve.

She was interrupted in the midst of her reverie by the sounds from the radio on her desk. Reaching forward, she gently turned the dial up, increasing the volume. The countdown to midnight had just started and the sound of the crowd counting down the numbers echoed out from the radio and through the room.

_Ten!_

_Nine!_

_Eight!_

_Seven!_

Emma smiled as the crowd became more boisterous and enthusiastic with each descending number. This was her favourite part. She always had enjoyed countdowns. She closed her eyes, smiling, and listened.

_Six!_

_Five!_

_Four!_

 

*****

 

_Three!_

_Two!_

_One!_

_Happy New Year!_

Logan watched, a scowl on his face, as the man in the black coat leaned forward and, placing his arms around Charlie’s neck, brought him forward into a deep, heated kiss. His scowl only deepened as he watched Charlie flush with pleasure and wrap his arms around the man in return, looking for all the world like Cinderella being kissed at the prince’s fucking ball.

Not for the first time that night, Logan wondered whether he ought to have taken the day off. A lot of the other Handlers and Dollhouse staff had been eagerly awaiting their night off, scheduled months in advance. Others had been very vocal about having to work both Christmas _and_ New Year, but the complaints were only half-hearted; they all knew what they were getting into when they signed up for the job and there wasn’t a single person who could deny that the Dollhouse compensation schemes and pay rates were more than generous. Besides, none of them would be caught dead whining about anything where there was a chance that Miss Frost – or even Victor Creed, for that matter – might hear about it. The Dollhouse may be generous with money, but patience was an entirely different matter.

Logan, of course, never really had a problem with all that. He was a single guy who all but lived in the Dollhouse and nearly all the money that he made went straight into a bank account where it was probably gathering a minor gold mine in interest. He had no family, few friends, and little interest in anything social. He had absolutely no qualms about working birthdays, Christmas, New Year or Hanukkah: they were all the same to him in that they all meant nothing.

Besides, he thought bleakly to himself as he watched the Client all but suck Charlie’s face off, it wasn’t as if he had anywhere else to go.

And, if he was being brutally honest with himself, there was no one else that he would rather spend New Year’s Eve with. Which was to say, no one other than Charlie. He could do just fine without the joker who was currently drooling all over his Active’s face, thank you very much.

He sighed. He was being out of sorts and he knew it. Normally he didn’t let things get to him. Today, though … today things were different. Perhaps it was because he was finally coming to understand himself better or maybe it was just because it was New Year’s Eve (and if you didn’t think about this sort of shit on New Year’s fucking Eve, then when could you think about it?) but he couldn’t help but feel tired and unhappy. This – this was no way to spend the New Year. Not for him, and not for Charlie. It made something curdle sourly in his stomach to think that their year was starting exactly how the last one had ended, and that the same thing would happen again and again and again until Charlie’s contract ran out or his own did.

Logan scowled and looked longingly over at the bar which was buzzing with calls for the harried bartenders. He had ordered himself a drink already so as to not stick out from everyone else, but he never forgot that he was on a job and that he needed to keep all of his wits about him. Charlie was his responsibility, after all. 

It didn’t stop him from wishing that he had a good few more fingers of whisky in his glass, though.

Sighing, Logan turned back towards the dance floor, where Charlie was gently swaying in the arms of his Client, a happy, blissful expression on his face.

No, Logan reflected grimly, it wouldn’t do to long for things that you couldn’t get. Wanting things you couldn’t have always led to trouble, and Logan didn’t have time for all that. He was better off keeping his goddamn paws to himself and minding his own goddamn business.

Pretending to himself that he was only reflecting about whisky, Logan turned his eyes back towards his watch and waited.


End file.
